


Objects in the Mirror

by toesohnoes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Mirrors, Multi, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine and Lancelot have to leave Camelot to survey the land for their king. Merlin gives them a gift to remember him by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objects in the Mirror

"Here, take it with you," Merlin had said before they left, pressing the small hand mirror into Gwaine's hand.

It was smaller than Gwaine's palm, and as he looked at the gift over his companion's shoulder Lancelot could see that it was set in a simple frame, round and wooden. A simple gift, and a strange one for Merlin to choose. A glance up to his face told Lancelot all he needed to know: there was more to this than a mere reflection.

"Thank you," Lancelot said. "I'm sure Gwaine will need it if he's to keep his hair looking like that."

Gwaine shoved his arm enough to knock him several steps sideways, but he had tucked the mirror into his pack without further question and had kissed Merlin's forehead before they left.

Now, they have been riding for five days. They've pitched their tent for the night in the centre of a mud-caked field. The sounds of the rest of the camp filter around them, but Lancelot and Gwaine leave them to it. "You can't risk starting a fight," Lancelot reminds him. "We're going to be on the road with them for quite a while."

Gwaine lies on his back, quite possibly sulking, while fiddling with the mirror that Merlin had given them. "What do you think it does?" he asks.

Lancelot glances over to see what he's talking about. "It's a mirror. It shows your reflection."

"Thank you," Gwaine answers shortly. Lancelot struggles not to smirk. He's certain that he never used to smirk before he met Gwaine. It isn't noble or knightly behaviour, after all. "I was wondering what Merlin had done to it."

Their gazes meet for a moment, hanging in the brief silence. Lancelot is still trying to get used to both of them sharing Merlin's secret; it had been a surprise to come back to Camelot months ago and find that he was no longer the only one who held Merlin's confidence. It had given him the same jolt that he had felt years ago when he had returned to find that he was no longer the only one to hold Gwen's heart.

He hadn't run away, this time.

"I'm sure it'll come in useful," he says, "when we least expect it. Merlin has a habit of saving the day at the last minute."

"I don't think it's for saving our lives." Gwaine frowns and shakes his head at it. "It's a present. That means it's for fun. Fun, remember that?"

"Faintly."

"This field could do with a bit of magic. I think it's the worst place we've stayed yet."

Lancelot decides not to mention their camp from three days ago, when they had woken up with a pair of pigs trying to snortle their way inside the tent. He also holds his tongue from asking about all of the various terrible places that Gwaine has slept during his travels; he imagines that even this is far better than sleeping in a mud-drenched ditch.

He does, however, remind Gwaine that Merlin probably isn't supposed to use his gifts for such flippancies as making a field more comfortable.

"Who says what he's 'supposed' to use it for?" Gwaine asks with a glint in his eyes. "Seems to me that if you're born with a gift you should use it however you like."

"Seems to me that there is a reason that Merlin was born a sorcerer and not you," Lancelot replies primly.

Gwaine sighs and flops down against the ground again. He holds the mirror above his head and turns it back and forth, the reflection casting light over the material of their tent. Lancelot looks down, takes hold of his sword, and begins to sharpen it. Patrolling the kingdom for Arthur, there's no way of knowing when they might run into trouble. At the rate they're going, he _wants_ to run into trouble - something, anything, to keep them occupied and to make Gwaine stop complaining.

"Oh!" Gwaine says in surprise, before he chuckles suddenly.

That sound could mean a great many things, not all of them good for Lancelot. He looks over his shoulder hurriedly.

"I can see him," Gwaine says. He laughs in delight once more, before he says, "I can feel him. Fuck."

Lancelot frowns and shuffles towards Gwaine, walking on his knees due to the restricted height of the tent. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I can _feel_ him," Gwaine repeats. It doesn't help to clarify the issue. His breath shortens and begins to come in shallow pants. "His tongue. It's on my neck."

"It's not," Lancelot tells him. The words feel stupid in his mouth. "He's not here."

"Take it," Gwaine says, although he seems reluctant to move the mirror at all. "Try it yourself."

It takes Gwaine a moment of hesitation, but he manages to outstretch his arm eventually. He holds it out to Lancelot, who takes it with only a moment's trepidation. It's a gift from Merlin; he knows not to fear it.

He looks into the reflection, and for a moment nothing happens. All he sees is himself, his own brown eyes looking back at him in wary confusion.

The mirror ripples, like a stone thrown into a puddle.

Brown fades to blue, and his own face is replaced with Merlin, grinning. The sight of him brings a smile to Lancelot's face. The logical part of him knows that it has only been five days since they left Camelot. It feels like far longer.

His smile wavers as the sensation that Gwaine had been talking about kicks it.

It's a pulling jolt in the centre of his gut, followed by the unmistakable feeling of Merlin's lips and tongue against his neck. He recognises it well, having spent many a night beneath Merlin and Gwaine being mercilessly worked over like this.

Yet he's never felt it in this way. He's never felt the press of Merlin's mouth along with the tingling push of his power. It's - stunning. Beautiful. Frightening.

Gwaine shuffles behind him, pressed neatly along his body. He curls his arms around Lancelot; embracing but restraining. "Can you hear us?" he asks the reflection.

Merlin nods, but doesn't speak. The sensations on Lancelot's neck grow stronger - and move downwards, beneath his tunic. He chokes on his breath and leans heavily against Gwaine's chest, his hips canting automatically upwards, searching for friction that isn't there.

"You're a genius, Merlin," Gwaine murmurs. In the mirror, Merlin gives a bright grin. Lancelot groans as a set of lips seems to lavish attention onto his nipple, sucking and licking and kissing until he's panting and sweating. It feels as if they've been doing this for hours; it's so intense. It's almost too much.

The other nipple receives attention at the same time, causing all of the muscles in Lancelot's body to stiffen in surprise. "What's he doing to you?" Gwaine asks, whispering the words into his ear: just for them. Lancelot only ever hears that low, husky voice when Gwaine is around both him and Merlin at once, as if the combination is simply too powerful for him to control himself any more.

"It's - His mouth. He's... I can feel him." Lancelot doesn't mean to allow himself to sound so innocent or unrestrained, but he can't help it. Perhaps Gwaine isn't the only one who struggles when it comes to controlling himself.

Gwaine's hand creeps down his front, finding the exact patches where he can feel Merlin's magic. Then there are two of them, attacking at once, Gwaine's fingers and the magic of Merlin's far-away mouth. Lancelot's toes curl and his chest heaves as he sucks in air. It feels like he's drowning in the pair of them.

Gwaine reaches out with one hand to readjust the angle of the mirror in Lancelot's hand. It is aimed lower, although it still shows Merlin's reflection rather than their own. The change in angle allows Merlin's magic to move as well, down from Lancelot's nipples to his navel. He can feel the scrape of Merlin's teeth against the flat of his stomach; his abs twitch reflexively in response.

Gwaine chases Merlin's presence with his hand as if he's racing him lower. He gets to the laces of Lancelot's breeches first and pulls them loose while Merlin still lavishes magical attention on Lancelot, there-but-not-there. Lancelot's eyes close and for a moment it is as if they are back in Camelot, settled warm inside Merlin's tower. They could playing together in Merlin's large bed while a fire crackled in the heath.

Yet he is fully clothed, no matter how nude he feels. Gwaine's hand grasps his crotch yet Merlin's reflection goes beneath it. Lancelot swears loudly when he feels Merlin's mouth wrap around his cock. His hips cant into the air: it's impossible, yet that doesn't stop his body from feeling it as if it were real.

Merlin's mouth is hot and the suction is perfect. It's hard and sloppy, exactly what he always needs to drag him towards orgasm. Gwaine's hand accompanies him, grinding and pushing through the material; it's too much, far too much. Lancelot pushes back against Gwaine, shuffling along their bed roll until he can feel the hard press of Gwaine's erection against the small of his back.

At the exact same moment, there's a long, hard push inside him, igniting nerve-endings and making him cry out. Gwaine's hand shoots to cover his mouth but it's too late, much too late; half of the camp must have heard them. They'll likely think that Gwaine is trying to murder him, but no one seems in a hurry to come to his rescue..

He nearly drops the mirror in his haste to claw Gwaine's hand from his mouth. "Inside me," he pants. "Merlin - he's inside me."

His body gives small, shaking tremors that he can't control. It's embarrassing, the way that he's falling apart - or it would be, if he could gather the mental capacity to even feel embarrassment. Instead, all he can feel is heat and desire and _need_ , thrumming through him from the centre and outwards.

Gwaine's hand stays outside his trousers, massaging him through the material. It's a wonderful friction, and a brilliant counter-point. In the small reflection of the mirror, Lancelot can see the mirth in Merlin's eyes; more than that, he can see the darkness of desire and the gold hint of magic. Beautiful, so beautiful, and all theirs.

His mouth falls open and he cries out again as Merlin thrusts particularly hard inside him. If they were really together, to feel like this he would have to be forced to his hands and knees and held still while Merlin did whatever he wanted with him, used him however he willed. With the power of magic, it isn't even essential for Merlin to be anywhere near them.

The hot air of Gwaine's breath against his neck is almost enough to make up for Merlin's absence - almost. Lancelot groans wantonly as Gwaine's lips glide over his neck; Gwaine doesn't kiss him, but he mouths his way along his skin, enough to give a hint of what it could feel like but not enough to follow through.

Lancelot closes his eyes, a natural response that has the unfortunate side effect of blocking out the sight of Merlin's reflection. He wants to see him, wants to drink in the lost side of him, but he's too far gone now. Inside him, Merlin presses hard enough against his prostate to make him cry out far too loudly - and that's it, that's enough, he comes hard, his hips pressing up against Gwaine's palm while he soaks his trousers with spurt after spurt of spunk.

Holding the mirror, his hand is shaking by the time the haze of his orgasm fades enough to allow him to open his eyes and gather his wits. All that waits for him in the reflection, however, is his own flushed face.

He stares for a few long moments anyway, urging him to come back. Gwaine is a warm weight behind him, supporting him, but the press of magic inside his body has vanished.

"He's gone," he reports. He doesn't manage to keep the laboured disappointment out of his voice.

Gwaine presses a kiss against his temple, and rolls his hips forward. Lancelot feels the firm bulge of Gwaine's erection against his arse. "Then I suppose it's up to you to finish the job."

Lancelot rolls his eyes, alarmed by the level of fondness rising in his chest. Gwaine's hold on him relaxes enough that he can turn around in his arms, bringing them face to face, mouth to mouth. They ease forward into a lazy kiss and the mirror drops onto the bed roll, temporarily forgotten.

Weeks later, when they make it back to Camelot, Merlin has nothing but smirks and open arms for the pair of them.


End file.
